


to have no yesterday and no tomorrow

by deadpoet (kafkaesques)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Angst, Attempted Murder, Forensic Psychiatrist Miya Atsumu, M/M, No Fluff, Toxic Relationships, Trauma, Violence, detective hinata shouyou, don’t argue with me, every fandom needs one of these, hannibal lecter au, maybe smut at some point, okay maybe a little
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:31:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25400161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kafkaesques/pseuds/deadpoet
Summary: Years after his early retirement, his former boss asks him for a favour, knowing he'll say yes. He has to embark on a dark path that leads him down a way he never thought he'd see ever again, and to a person he never wanted to encounter again.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu
Comments: 1
Kudos: 21





	to have no yesterday and no tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so. Let me explain myself. I haven't written anything with potential for about five years now, and the only reason I'm doing it now is because I'm in treatment at a clinic and I have a deal with my therapist that basically entails that I have to pick up things or hobbies I used to love. One of them being writing. I originally intended this to be a Kagehina fanfiction but 1) I'm in love with Atsuhina atm and 2) Atsumu makes a better Hannibal Lecter. Like, seriously. The best characters in this entire universe to be Hannibal would obviously be 1) Oikawa or 2) Kuroo. But, here we are, and it is Atsuhina. Why has no one thought about making the mandatory Hannibal Lecter AU yet? Just me???? Well okay then.  
> Anyway. I haven't written in ages is what I'm trying to say, so forgive me if my writing is rusty.

The rain in Miyagi was heavy and cold that day. Detective Hinata parked his car at the side of the road right in front of the doctor’s house. It was one of many houses in a row, no space in between, but higher than the others. Almost like it was towering over them, dark and looming in the starless night. He exited the car and sprinted through the rain, covering his hair with his already damp coat.

He climbed the few steps to the doctor’s main door. It was made of dark wood, as was the rest of the furniture inside, as Hinata knew from the few visits he made to the doctor’s practice. It seemed like a déjà-vu when he rang the bell, although it really had only happened three times. They usually met at the police headquarters, which was also the place where Hinata met the doctor. If they didn’t meet at the headquarters, they met at the crime scenes.

After a few seconds the door was opened.

“Hello, Hinata-san,” doctor Miya said, clearly surprised about his late-night visitor.

“Doctor,” Hinata greeted. He could only imagine what he looked like. Wet from the rain, dishevelled and unkempt. It made him feel self-conscious, especially because the doctor was clearly the opposite. He wore dark navy blue trousers, a spotless white shirt, sleeves pulled back to his elbows, and a tie that matched the trousers. His hair, blond with dark strands underneath, was slicked back. He looked very nice. Hinata wanted to disappear, as was often the case when he stood next to the doctor, who was significantly taller than him.

But then he remembered why he was here, and he sobered up immediately.

“Can we talk, Doctor?” he asked.

“Of course. Come in. Let me get your coat,” Miya said, ever the gentleman.

The doctor hung his coat in the entry hall. As Hinata entered, several scents wafted towards him. It smelled like roast dinner. The doctor must have held one of his well-known dinner parties again. Or soireés, as he himself liked to call them. It was a world entirely unknown to Hinata, who lived off instant ramen and eggs on toast, if he felt fancy. The doctor had promised him to cook for him, and him alone, and Hinata blushed at the memory. He could be alone with Miya if work was involved. They had spent hours collecting evidence others had overlooked, doing research, working on profiles. The thought of being alone with Miya, without the context of work, made Hinata feel almost vulnerable. Though, as Miya was the best forensic psychiatrist in all of Miyagi – arguably in all of Japan – he probably had Hinata all figured out.

They walked silently through the entry hall, Hinata following almost obediently. He couldn’t help it – even without speaking the doctor had this air of authority around him. Maybe it was their fifteen year age gap, Hinata mused, but he shook himself out of his thoughts. He was here for work, after all.

Miya led Hinata into his office. He’d only ever spoke to the doctor in his practice, never in his personal office. It was significantly bigger than the excuse of an office that Hinata occupied at the headquarters. Behind the large desk, probably made of mahogany judging by the red tint of the wood, was a wall full with diplomas and accolades the doctor had earned. There were a lot of them. The three other walls were lined with bookshelves, also made of dark wood, creating an almost depressing atmosphere in the room, an environment Hinata couldn’t work in. The shelves were stacked with books, most of them thicker than any book Hinata ever touched.

On his desk stood a small display, the sides and the back made of wood also, but the front being glass. In it he saw several different beetles, from very small to alarmingly big.

"For a patient of mine," Miya explained from behind him, noticing the younger man's curious gaze. He nodded simply and tore his eyes away.

Miya sat down in his chair behind the desk, and motioned for Hinata to sit as well. He did so, casting a last look at the old-fashioned quiver with arrows behind him, before looking ahead at the doctor, who smiled congenially. “How can I help you, Hinata-san?” he asked.

“I – ” the detective started, but broke off. He tried to phrase the words in his head into a sentence, but his thoughts were suddenly wild and jumbled, so he blurted, “Our profile is wrong.”

“Our profile of the Ishinomaki Ripper?”

Hinata nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“How is it wrong?” the doctor asked, seeming genuinely surprised.

“We were looking for someone with a grudge and a working knowledge of anatomy,” Hinata said.

“Yes, judging from the precision of the cuts he performed to collect body parts,” Miya reiterated.

“That’s the thing doctor. He’s not collecting body parts,” Hinata said, bile rising in his throat.

“If he’s not collecting them ... why cut them out and keep them?” Miya asked, clueless.

“He’s not keeping them,” Hinata explained. Then he looked Miya directly in the eyes. “He’s eating them.”

The doctor’s eyes widened marginally, and he leaned back in his chair. An inexplicable look passed over his face, but he didn’t say anything, silently asking Hinata to continue.

The detective sighed. “I couldn’t sleep last night. I knew something wasn’t right. I watched the rerun of a cooking show, and the woman showed how to carve a chicken. She said – ” Hinata pressed his eyes closed, unable to get the mental picture out of his head. The third victim, cut throat, blood everywhere. “She said the most tender part are the oysters at the back. And then it hit me. All the parts that are missing from the victims – heart, liver, tongue – are all parts that are used in cooking.” He breathed out, trying to steady himself, but it didn’t work. He imagined himself, cutting through her, slicing her open. She didn’t deserve what had been done to her. No one did. He looked up at Miya, and saw him watching, contemplating.

“Have you shared this with your colleagues?” he asked, and Hinata couldn’t describe his tone. It seemed like he was choosing his words very, very carefully and deliberately.

“No,” Hinata sighed. “I had to see you first.” He saw a shift in the doctor’s face, and quickly said, “But I’m right! I know I’m right. I’m –” He tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “I’m starting to be able to think like him.”

The doctor smiled suddenly, and his eyes almost glazed over. “Yes. What a rare gift you have.”

“I’m not a psychic, Doctor,” Hinata interjected.

“No,” the other said quickly, sitting upright and leaning forward, elbows on his desk and fingers intertwined, as if he was praying. “No, but you’re able to imagine yourself as the other person. No matter how sick and twisted they may be.”

“I’m not sure it’s a gift,” Hinata disagreed, frowning.

“Oh, believe me, it is,” Miya said, on his face a lopsided grin. “Maybe a somewhat troubling gift, but a gift nonetheless. I would love to have you as my patient. The things you must have been through ...” He trailed off, as if Hinata knew what he was talking about.

It reminded Hinata of something. “I can’t wrap my head around one thing, though,” he said, looking up. “You’re the best forensic psychiatrist I’ve ever met. I just don’t understand ... how this possibility never occurred to you.”

Miya seemed taken aback by Hinata’s concern, but he was quick to reply. “Well, what can I say, Hinata-san? I’m only human after all. I make mistakes like you and the rest.”

Hinata shook his head slightly. “I know, but ... you don’t seem like someone who makes many mistakes.”

“I’m afraid I no longer enjoy your trust,” the doctor said, brows furrowed.

“No, it’s – ” All of a sudden, out of nowhere, a sinister feeling crept up inside of him. It spread from his core into his fingertips like a rabid disease, and fear gripped his heart in an unrelenting vice. But, as quickly as it came, the feeling dispersed, and faded after just a few seconds. He breathed out slowly. What was that? He’d felt that way before, many times, on crime scenes or facing the perpetrator. Why now, why here? “I almost had it,” he said silently, more to himself.

“Don’t worry. It will come to you eventually,” the doctor said calmly.

“I haven’t slept in fourty-eight hours,” Hinata confessed, a tiny embarrassed laugh escaping his throat. Every time he was chest-deep in a case like this, sleep eluded him like smoke. He'd be lucky to get two hours of sleep a night, and not to wake up in a pool of his own sweat.

“Do you feel better now that you’ve told me?” Miya asked.

“Slightly,” Hinata responded.

“Then you should try to sleep. I’ll clear some space in my schedule so we can work on that profile. Sound good?”

“Yes. Thank you.” Suddenly, Hinata felt like a weight had been lifted off him, and he could finally relax. Maybe he’d even get a few hours of sleep before dawn came.

“No problem, Hinata-san,” the doctor said with a charming smile. Maybe Hinata would blush if he wasn’t so tired.

Hinata made a move to stand up, but Miya beat him to it. He motioned for Hinata to stay put as he said, “Don’t worry, I’ll get your coat for you.” With that, he left the room.

Despite his words, Hinata couldn’t stay seated. He stood, legs and arms feeling heavy with a sudden exhaustion that came over him. He looks over the books lined up alphabetically on the book shelves, most of them relating to psychology. Others were historical books that seemed decades old. One book didn’t seem to fit. It was a french cooking book, and it appeared as if it had very recently been opened, because it protruded from the other books. A red bookmark had been put in it.

Hinata didn’t know why he was drawn to this book out of all of them, but he couldn’t help pulling it out and flipping it open where the bookmark had been placed.

He skimmed over the pages, not understanding a word. One singular English word had been scribbled above one of the paragraphs.

Le sot-l’y-laisse: une pièce de viande de volaille, et plus particulièrement du poulet ... but above it, written with blue tint, was the word: oysters.

Hinata stared at the word for a few seconds. He turned around, the book falling from his hands in the process, but he didn’t hear it hit the ground, because as he faced the other way, away from the bookshelf, he felt a hand clamp around his neck, fingers digging into his skin and constricting his windpipe. His own hands came up to pry the fingers off, but then something cold and sharp pushed into him, and the breath was knocked out of his lungs as pain seared through him like lightning.

He looked up at his attacker, and recognised the face immediately, but it was like his brain couldn’t fit the final two pieces of the puzzle together. Dark eyes, blond hair, easy smile – no, it couldn’t be.

Miya twisted the knife plunged into Hinata’s middle, making his intent clear. The hand around his neck moved up at grab his chin, now brutally pressing into the skin of his face. But Hinata barely felt the pressure – all he could feel was the mind-numbing pain of being stabbed, the knife gliding into him effortlessly. His ears were ringing, but over it he still heard the all too familiar voice of the doctor, completely calm and collected, like this was a normal Tuesday night for him.

“Don’t worry, I don’t want you to feel any pain,” he whispered, and somewhere in the back of his mind Hinata noticed the disparity between what he said and what he did. “Right now you’re in shock, but soon you’ll feel drowsy. It’ll be over quick, I promise.”

He pressed Hinata into the bookshelf, and the smaller man shut his eyes and pressed his teeth together, biting his own tongue. He tasted iron on his lips, but nothing could shut out the torrential pain that swept through his body.

Miya wordlessly placed his hand on Hinata’s hip, and the smaller mean leaned into him, unable to stay upright. The doctor let him slip to the floor, both of them brushing against the quiver and sending it to the ground with a clatter. Miya followed him, holding him close, kneeling over him. A hand brushed through his hair almost gently. In the same moment he pulled out the knife and held it in front of his face. Hinata’s vision became more and more blurry by the second, but he saw the wild look on the other man’s face – he was enjoying this. He was enjoying Hinata’s pain.

The doctor smiled, but it was no longer charming – as if a mask had just been discarded. His eyes were manic.

“You didn’t even scream,” he whispered, transfixed. “Such a brave boy you are.” He held the bloodied knife to Hinata’s chest. “Not to worry. I won’t waste a single part of you.”

Before the doctor could pierce his skin, he let out a groan, looking down to where Hinata had rammed the arrows into his stomach. The knife in his hands clattered to the floor where Hinata’s arm sank, the little movement having cost him too much of the energy he had left.

Miya stood slowly, hands flexing as if he thought about removing the arrows, but knowing better. His back hit the bookshelf behind him, and in the few seconds it took him to collect himself again, Hinata mustered all the strength he had left and grabbed his gun, hidden away in the holster in his west. He unlocked it and aimed it vaguely at the other, who started to move towards him again. He pulled the trigger once, twice, three times, watching as the other collapsed and fell backwards, carried by the force of the bullets hitting him. Only when he was sure Miya was out did Hinata drop his weapon, and suddenly everything was too heavy. It felt like he sunk into the floor, like he became one with it. He was going to die, he realised slowly, but he didn’t have time to think about it before darkness overtook his entire being.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, for anyone who's interested why I'm in a clinic, keep reading I guess. (TW: eating disorders; thoughts of suicide) I descended into an eating disorder about five years ago, and ever since then there was nothing else in my life except that eating disorder. I didn't want to get better, I wanted to stay exactly where I was, which was a dead-end. Everyone else in my life kept moving forward, but I was stuck here, in my illness. I was so lost for three years and I lost the will to live. I was in and out of hospitals, sometimes even completely against my will. But I realise now that if I hadn't gone there ... I wouldn't be alive anymore. As much as I thought I wanted to die, I didn't actually want that. I just wanted a differen life. There's so much self-hatred in me, I can't even put it into words. Still, every day, I look into the mirror and I ... I can't bear it. But it wouldn't be better if I weighed 40 pounds less. So I'm trying my best here but it really is hard. And honestly, I had a lot of fun writing this first chapter.  
> I hope you like it as well. I always love to read comments so don't hold back! Thank you for reading.  
> My tumblrs are: kafkastic (B&W) / cytosinical (everything else)


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